


Breakpoint

by Adverb_Sluts_Archive (Adverb_Slut)



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22505350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adverb_Slut/pseuds/Adverb_Sluts_Archive
Summary: Breakpoint: a place or time at which an interruption or change is made.These six angel brothers had tirelessly tried to obey their Father's every whim for all their lives.  However, despite their greatest efforts, they still made countless mistakes, all of which are punished severely.Whether it be the first blunder or the last, each act of retribution their Father enacts against them pushes them closer and closer to their breakpoint—a place where the insidious seeds of rebellion against their Father are planted.These are the stories of how they got there.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 67





	1. Belphegor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belphegor's curiosity gets the better of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently, I am working on another Obey Me! story, but I kind of got this one in my head and felt as if I had to write it down. I fear it may be a little confusing, but I hope not too much!

“Belphie, stop squirming,” Beelzebub muttered. “You’re not very heavy, but if you keep moving around, I’m gonna lose my grip and drop you.” He readjusted his hands under his twin’s arms as he flapped his wings in descent.

Belphegor fidgeted a bit more at the movement, earning a _hmph_ from his brother. He knew better than to look down, especially as an angel without wings and so unused to flying, but some kind of inane reflex prompted him to anyway.

He gulped as he tilted his head downward. The ground didn’t seem to be coming up awfully fast—Beel was a deliberate flyer—but that didn’t stop a tingle from snaking its way up his spine. He clutched the scroll in his hand tightly, not daring to imagine what would happen should he drop it and it go whizzing down all the way to the verdant plains below. 

“I always forget how far the cloud cover of the Celestial Realm is from Earth’s surface,” Belphegor commented. “I can’t believe you make this flight every day, Beel.”

“It’s my job, Belphie,” Beel responded cheerfully. “Someone has to guard Eden, you know?” After a pause, he scanned their surroundings below, and decided, “Alright, I’m going to drop you off here. I’ll walk the rest of the way—Eden’s only a half a mile north, but I’m pretty sure there’s a town nearby here for you to explore.”

As Belphegor’s feet touched Earth’s surface and he wriggled free from his brother’s grasp, he marveled at the solidness of the ground, despite having made this excursion several times before. In the Celestial Realm, everything under their feet would be on a layer of cloud, and it was strange for him to feel the sturdiness of soil against the soles of his sandals. 

He turned to his twin. “Thanks, Beel.”

“I would say, ‘anytime,’ but Belphie, you can’t keep doing this,” Beel warned, wringing the hem of his tunic anxiously. “You know you always get in trouble whenever you come down here.”

Belphegor sighed. _Getting in trouble_ was quite an understatement. As the Angel of the Sabbath, he was meant to spend his time in the Celestial Realm, managing reports on which humans below kept the covenant of the Sabbath and which did not, and calculating percentages of whether or not their Sabbath-related actions warranted them a spot in heaven. As far as his Father was concerned, this was not a job that required him to go down to Earth, and every time that he _did_ , he had quite the plethora of punishments to endure—most in the form of excruciatingly long lectures on disobedience. 

But that didn’t stop him from making the odd trips down to Earth. It wasn’t necessarily the planet itself that fascinated him, but the creatures that _inhabited_ it: in his opinion, there was no other being that his Father had created so engrossing than the strange little mortals that looked surprisingly like their angelic counterparts above. These creatures—these _humans_ —he could never find a way to truly describe them. 

Humans, with their mortal life spans, each living only a fraction of what he had lived, who had seen only an iota of what he had seen. Humans, who lived each day like it was their last and loved so fiercely that altruism seemed to be embedded into their very beings. Humans, who were just another one of his Father’s innumerable possessions, expendable and easy to dispose of. 

He couldn’t help but allow himself to visit them now and again, and due to the fact that his Father had decided in the Beginning that wings were given to angels based on their job and how often they needed to travel down to Earth, he had to rely on his twin, Beelzebub, to fly him down on his way to Earth for his daily morning shift as a Guardian of Eden.

However, this always brought the discussion of when Beel was supposed to return after his stint at Eden to recollect his brother, so together they could fly back home.

“I’ll come back at sunset—that’s okay, right, Belphie?” Beel asked. It had been the same schedule the pair had been using every time they visited Earth. 

“Uh,” Belphegor began, turning his eyes downward, as he unfurled the scroll that he had been holding. “About that ...”

Beel’s eyes widened as he saw the contents of the scroll. “Isn't that … isn’t that the official schedule for Messenger Angels on when they’re supposed to deliver messages to humans?” He gulped. “Why do you have that?”

“Relax, I asked Gabriel for a copy, and he said I could have it,” Belphegor reassured. He pointed to the hundreds of boxes inked on the papyrus, each box containing writing that depicted a single message, to whom it was for, and where a Messenger Angel could find the recipient. “Some of these have dates for when they have to be delivered by,” he explained, tracing his finger along one of the boxes, which was stamped with an angel’s personal seal and acted as their signature. “The ones sealed with purple wax means that someone has already been assigned to deliver the message because it was _so_ urgent.” He moved to the next box, which was stamped with red wax. “This one means that it can be delivered at any time, but someone already is en route to do it.” He then pointed to a box that had no stamps near it whatsoever. “And _these_? They’re nonurgent _and_ no one’s signed up to dispatch them. Those are gonna be mine.”

Beelzebub gulped. “What do you mean, _yours_?”

He rolled the scroll back up and took a deep breath, not daring to look his brother in the eye. He hadn’t told Beelzebub of his plan, yet, and he dreaded to hear his twin’s opinion of it.

Beel was a fastidious worker, who was proud of his role as one of the Guardians of Eden, but he was even _more_ proud of his younger brother’s monumental task of being the angel who was in control of the _entire_ Sabbath. Belphegor’s titular role of Angel of the Sabbath was one that afforded him quite a bit of fame and power up in the Celestial Realm. There wasn’t an angel who didn’t know his name, and he was always getting stopped by those who wanted his advice on various subjects, most of which Belphegor knew nothing about.

But that didn’t stop him from envying the role of angels who were granted wings and were permitted to visit Earth as often as they needed—Guardian Angels and Messenger Angels (as well as some of the all-powerful Archangels); even though their faceless roles didn’t offer as much prestige as his did, they were gifted the privilege of actually _interacting_ with humans.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Belphegor admitted. “Coming down here, spending a few hours until the sun goes down, just watching them, you know, Beel? I want to _talk_ to them, _learn_ about them, heck, I want to learn _from_ them—”

“No, stop,” Beel interrupted. His eyebrows were upturned in worry as he lifted his brother’s chin so he could look him in the eyes. “Belphie, don’t tell me that you want to stay here forever—” He paused and glanced at the scroll that Belphegor had been holding. His eyes widened as he made the connection. “— _posing as a Messenger Angel_.”

“Not _forever_ , Beel,” Belphegor reassured. “Just … a few weeks. Let’s say three, okay?”

Beelzebub massaged his forehead. “Three weeks? That’s _three_ weeks where you won’t be able to do your duties as the Angel of the Sabbath. You can’t—no—no—Father would be _incensed_.” He reached over to his brother and grabbed his arms. “That’s it, I’m taking you back to the Celestial Realm _right_ now.”

He shook off his brother’s hands. “ _No_ , Beel. I’m doing this. I’ve already made up my mind.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “Just … promise me you’ll support me in this?”

Beelzebub smiled. “Okay!” He grabbed Belphegor’s shoulders and flapped his wings as if he hadn't said a word.

“What—Beel put me _down_!” He squirmed and kicked his legs. “I’m serious!” He opened his eyes and looked down as they flew higher and higher, farther and farther above the Earth’s surface. Taking a deep breath, he stopped wriggling and held still. “Beel … please. Just three weeks. I _promise_ I’ll have my curiosity sated by then—I’ll never come back to Earth after that. I’ll never leave the Celestial Realm, I’ll—I’ll stay up and run the numbers of Sabbath-day-keepers, I—I won’t even _think_ of humans—I swear!” He sighed. “... I won’t ... even think of humans.”

Their ascent stopped. He couldn’t see his twin’s facial expression from where he hung, but he could hear the weariness in his voice. “Who’s going to take over the role of the Angel of the Sabbath when you’re gone?”

Belphegor’s heart lifted. “Azazel and Telantes. They work under me, you remember?”

He could _feel_ the body-shaking groan that left Beelzebub. “Fine.” He flapped his wings as they descended. “Three weeks. I’ll come find you at sunset at the end of them. Do you know where you’ll be then?”

“I’m not really sure,” Belphegor admitted. As his feet came to rest on Earth’s surface, he looked at his brother. “But you’ll come find me, right?”

Beelzebub beamed. “Of course, I will, Belphie."

* * *

Beel didn’t find him, and three weeks turned into three moons, which turned into three _years_. 

Belphegor had run out of messages to deliver after the first week and had spent most of his time wandering from city to city, country to country, living in camps that welcomed him as a messenger of the gods.

That _was_ the case, at least, until about a moon ago; he had taken copious amounts of some kind of liquid that a village had offered him as an act of hospitality called _wine_. He didn’t know what had transpired after he had consumed the fourth wineskin, but he had woken up in a deserted land, with nothing but enormous snowdrifts as far as the eye could see. 

Belphegor had seen the storehouses laden with snow in the Celestial Realm but never had he ever imagined it to be so blisteringly _cold_. The Earth was still new, and humans had yet to populate the area where he was in. Ill-equipped for such weather, Belphegor had no choice but to trek through the snow, shivering from the cold with his teeth chattering and his lips an unbecoming shade of blue. 

Being an immortal angel with no fear of hypothermia or frostbite, the only way he could find respite from the frigid air that surrounded him was to _sleep_. 

And sleep he did.

For days, in fact, until all Belphegor knew _was_ sleep. There was something cozy about the pitch darkness that enveloped him when his eyes were closed; it was a surefire welcome as opposed to the freezing wind and subzero temperatures that greeted him when he was conscious. Sleep was a comfort, wrapping him in momentary joy instead of the crushing sense of abandonment that bodied him if he dared to open his eyes.

That was, until, he felt something _other_ than the howling wind waking him up. 

“Belphegor, Angel of the Sabbath,” someone said, shaking his practically frozen body, which was nestled deep in a snowdrift.

“Beel?” Belphegor asked groggily, noticing that the silhouette glowed and had wings like an angel.

The silhouette offered him a hand to help him get up, which he hesitated before taking. “No, my name is Jabril. I am a Messenger Angel.”

Belphegor rubbed his face with frost-covered hands and widened his eyes to take a better look at the figure, who he realized wore the standard white robes and blue sash of a Messenger Angel. He looked at their surroundings. “Why are you here? There’s no one to deliver a message to around for miles.”

Jabril shook his head. “No, Belphegor. I’m here to deliver a message to _you_.” He produced a scroll hidden within his sash and unfurled it.

Belphegor choked as he noticed that it looked exactly like the scroll he had shown his twin _years_ ago. 

Jabril pointed to a message box, which was stamped in purple with his seal. “Belphegor, Angel of the Sabbath, has been summoned to the Almighty’s Throne Room,” he read. Underneath it was written today’s date and the exact coordinates to Belphegor’s location.

He gulped. His Father never invited His sons to his Throne Room unless it was for punishment. And it wasn’t the typical “lecture” punishment—no, no. These types of punishments were _much_ more severe. There was a real chance that Belphegor could have his title ripped away from him or Hell, his very existence _erased_. “He waited _three_ years to summon me. Why?”

“You know better than to question, Father,” Jabril reminded him as he latched onto Belphegor’s shoulders and began to flap his wings. “But you know how He is. Making you wait this long to wonder when He was going to find you might just be part of your punishment.”

Belphegor stomach clenched as the two continued to fly higher and higher into the Celestial Realm. “I hope that really is the case.” 

* * *

The first thing he noticed when he entered the Throne Room was not the pearlescent marble floors, the walls encrusted in brilliant diamond, or the immense moonstone chandeliers that hung from golden chains off the ceiling. 

It wasn’t the seraphim that loitered around His throne, their haunting praises rumbling in their throats.

It wasn’t even the blinding light, the glory of his Father, that shone from the throne itself.

The first thing he noticed was the music. 

Soothing notes—a melodic piece—a cry of melancholy and reassurance, resounded from the masterful fingers of Lucifer as he guided his harp into realms of music so beautiful that Belphegor, who knew better than to linger in the Throne Room entryway, had to stop and listen.

From the left side of his Father’s throne, Lucifer’s music was a constant: he produced a sound so beautiful that the Almighty could rarely go without it. His fascination with Lucifer’s music had grown to a point where the two were nigh inseparable. 

The Archangel of Music’s eyes were closed and his face held an expression that was so serene that Belphegor had to wonder if Lucifer even realized who his audience was; he looked as if his only purpose was to coax the notes out of the instrument, regardless of who might be listening. 

Belphegor stood entranced, his eyelids feeling heavy with the comforting tones before he was pulled out of his reverie with the sound of someone clearing their throat.

“My son.” His Father’s voice, like peals of thunder, reverberated through the expansive throne room. “You may approach.”

He walked forward, his shoulders straight, and tried to keep his gaze ahead, but every time his peripheral vision grazed the bright glory of his Father, his eyes watered and he was forced to look down. When he was several feet away from the throne, he fell prostrate on the ground.

“Father,” he greeted, his forehead resting on the tile.

“Arise, Belphegor, Angel of the Sabbath,” his Father said. “Although, perhaps it is wise to address you also by your self-given role of Messenger Angel, as well.”

He peeled himself off the ground. Knowing better than to stare at the luminous figure of God, he stood and averted his eyes toward the almost equally brilliant Lucifer, who played on as if there was no one else in the room. “That’d be alright.”

“Do you know why you stand before Me today?”

He took a deep breath, drawing a miasma of calmness from the harp and the low chanting of the seraphim. “I do.”

A moment later, his Father boomed, “Do you know why, my son, I created the Sabbath?”

“I do.”

“You are the expert angel, in this case, then; explain it to Me.”

“You created it, Father, to represent the day of rest You took after spending six days creating the universe, back in the Beginning.”

His Father’s glow diminished for a moment, and Belphegor cringed. For every time his Father’s light faltered, it would return a moment later tenfold brighter, signifying his rage. 

There it was: the glorious light roared back with a fierceness that indeed rivaled what it had been before. “And _yet_ , this duty of protecting such a hallowed tradition is something you are willing to shirk, only to take upon the duties of a _Messenger Angel_ —a duty that is not even yours?”

“Yes,” Belphegor gulped.

Strangely enough, the inferno that was his Father receded slightly and didn’t get brighter. It seemed almost as if the Almighty was actually calming _down_. His voice, now, sounded like a stream of water, without an ounce of malice. “You did well in your duties as a Messenger Angel, Belphegor; I commend you for that. But, I cannot overlook your _slothfulness_ into the work that _I_ assigned to you. I gave you the title of Angel of the Sabbath for a reason, and I expect you to go back and continue to fulfill it. The dismissal of your actual work comes off as laziness, and I cannot tolerate My day of holy rest being made into a day of indolence on your part.”

“But, Father, I—” Belphegor knew better than to argue with God, but he had spoken without thinking.

The brightness of his Father’s glory flared irritatedly at his act of insolence, and He spoke over Belphegor as if he hadn’t said a word. “My son, I will withdraw my original punishment from you, provided you understand the error of your ways. Answer Me, Belphegor, do you regret what you did?”

For a moment, Belphegor was silent, as he thought back to the moons that he had spent on Earth. There were no words to describe just how _much_ he had enjoyed his stay there, despite the overwhelming agony of going without Beel. Every day was a new adventure as he trotted from village to village, delivering messages that his Father had decided was necessary for certain humans to hear from his underlings. Sure, not having the actual wings of a Messenger Angel made the role significantly harder, but he was so fully dedicated to this job that it made little difference to him. Even the miserable moon he had spent in frigid hell, no matter how torturous, was worth listening to the fascinating stories that he had heard from the humans and the experiences he had gleaned. 

So that is why, Belphegor blinked through the tears that came with looking straight at his Father’s glowing presence, and declared, “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone missed it (I don't think I was very clear), but the reason I made Belphie be the Angel of the Sabbath is because the Sabbath is supposed to be a day of rest, and Belphie, as a demon, is the Avatar of Slothfulness, which can be seen when someone rests too much.
> 
> Also, Satan will not be getting a chapter in here because it's supposed to be focused on the angels, and since Satan was born out of Lucifer's wrath against his Father, he never really was an angel. But, don't worry! He will be featured in this story!
> 
> Ah, another note, I'm still wondering how to incorporate Lillith into this story. Hm.


	2. Beelzebub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub saves a friend, and in return, condemns himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a lot easier for me to write than the previous one, probably because there is so much less dialogue, which I hate writing.
> 
> AND JUST A NOTE: FOR EVERYONE WHO READ THIS STORY PRIOR TO FEBRUARY 4TH, 2020 (THE DAY I AM POSTING THIS CHAPTER—THAT IS, CHAPTER TWO—PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE REWRITTEN CHAPTER ONE BECAUSE I REALIZED I WASN'T SATISFIED WITH IT. Some of the original words in the first edition of the first chapter, but there is a lot of new content that is mentioned extensively in this chapter, so please go back and reread the first chapter if you have already read it prior to me posting this chapter. Sorry for the inconvenience.

_“Beel_! _” Belphie_ ’ _s eyes were steeped with betrayal_. _“You said you’d come for me_. _Where are you_?” 

_Beelzebub watched as his twin’s form disintegrated before his very eyes and reached toward him. “I did, Belphie_ — _I just couldn’t_ — _”_

 _“I_ ’ _ve been waiting two years, Beel_!" _Belphie cried, more and more of his body disappearing into nothingness. “_ Two years _! We agreed to_ three weeks _! Are you even going to come for me at all_? _”_

“I’m coming, Belphie!” Beelzebub screamed, bolting out of bed and reaching forward as if to grab his missing brother’s hand. His fingertips grasped nothing but air. He shivered, realizing it was just a dream—a dream that he’d had every day for the past two years. 

_Two years_. That’s how long it had been since Beelzebub had seen his younger brother. _Two_ _years_ since he’d left him on Earth, promising to come back at sunset three weeks later. _Two years_ since he’d gone to look for his brother after the three weeks were up, only to realize that Belphegor had moved around so much on Earth and was no longer in the same village that he’d left him. _Two years_ during which Beelzebub had spent every single waking moment of his eternal life when he wasn’t guarding Eden to look for his only brother in every human-inhabited region of Earth, forgoing most of his meals and sleep and taking only a few moments every night after searching to rest. 

He stared at the space next to him on his king-size bed where two years ago, Belphie would have slept and sighed. He rubbed his eyes groggily—getting only ten minutes of sleep every night caused him to be perpetually tired—and looked at the golden clock that rested on his bedside table. It read that it was dawn; the Guardians of Eden on the night shift would be almost done standing sentinel over the Garden by now. That meant it was almost time for him to get to work.

Beelzebub’s stomach growled in protest as he changed out of his sleeping tunic and into the pearly white robes and green sash that were his standard uniform. His meal times had varied greatly in the two years that he had spent scouting the Earth for his brother. He could only afford to waste a few precious seconds on eating _quick_ meals, none of which sustained him for very long. 

And today, since it was already so close to the time for his shift to start, he didn’t want to waste even a moment by grabbing something to eat. 

He raced toward the precipice of the Celestial Realm and launched himself off. As soon as his feet left the cloud cover that made up the ground, he flapped his wings downward and began his descent toward the surface of Earth.

This trip always chilled Beelzebub to his very bones. He could almost _feel_ his hands curl underneath his brother’s arms as the two made their way to Earth—him to go guard Eden, and Belphie to go observe and interact with humans. 

He flew downward for a few moments before his feet touched the ground. He walked north for several feet before he saw the silhouette of tall, imposing fruit trees and the other plants that made of the flora of the Garden of Eden. 

“Beelzebub!” Adoniel greeted from the Garden’s entrance. “You’re right on time.”

Chasan, the other angel on duty, saluted him. “Good to see you.” 

“You, too,” Beelzebub replied. “You guys can go; I’ll take it from here.”

As the two nighttime Guardians of Eden began to take their leave, Beelzebub glanced at the sky, searching for Tabris, the angel with whom he had shared the morning shift with for as long as the Garden of Eden had needed guarding. Usually, Tabris arrived earlier than him, but today, he was nowhere to be seen.

Figuring the other angel had overslept, Beelzebub walked over to the entrance and stood erect, scanning the area in front of him for any intruders, as he always did. 

Several minutes passed by, and there was still no sight of Tabris. Beelzebub began to worry; if his Father found out about his partner’s tardiness, there would be no doubt that he would be punished severely. His Father wasn’t known for physically abusing His children for minor infractions like lateness, but the incensed lectures He gave were even worse than even the most abrasive whippings. 

As Beelzebub decided that today he would just have to do the work of two guards, he heard the sound of wings flapping. He glanced at the sky, expecting to see Tabris, but instead, saw the figure of a female angel.

This angel was exceedingly beautiful, with long hair that cascaded down her back and features so fine that he had to wonder exactly _how_ long his Father had spent fashioning her. One thing, he noticed in particular, was her wings: they were massive and feathered, covered in jewels and various precious gemstones. They were _far_ too heavy to be of any practical use. He figured that they were just ornamental. He deduced that she must not be an angel that was usually sent down to Earth, else she would have been given functional wings, or none at all.

The woman angel caught him staring and blushed, tucking her wings behind her. “Yeah, I wasn’t created to leave the Celestial Realm, much.” She fingered the gaudy feathers that adorned her back. “They’re just supposed to look pretty.”

He then realized that she appeared familiar. “Wait—you’re one of the Seraphim, aren’t you?” No wonder she didn’t venture out of the Celestial Realm. The seraphim were the most _powerful_ angels—even more so than most Archangels—with beautiful voices. They sat directly at the Throne of the Almighty, singing his praises day after day. 

“Yes, my name is Lilith.” She reached out her hand, and he shook it. “I’ve been assigned to be your fellow Guardian of Eden today.”

Beelzebub did a double-take. Why in the world would God assign a mighty _Seraph_ to do a menial guard job? “What do you mean?” He looked around. “What about Tabris?” When he saw the confused look on Lilith’s face, he elaborated, “He and I have been the morning guards of Eden for as long as I can remember.”

“You didn’t hear? Tabris broke one of his wings yesterday. He’s on bed rest for the next few days,” replied Lilith.

 _Huh_. Beelzebub hadn’t heard anything about his partner’s injury, but then again, he _had_ been on full Belphie-searching mode, so he hadn’t had much time to pay attention to anything else. He felt a twinge of guilt creep up but tried to focus on the matter at hand. “Ah, okay, but why _you_ as his replacement? You’re a Seraph—surely your worship is more important than this.”

Lilith blushed and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Well, I’m currently suspended.”

“What? Why?” he asked, his eyes widening. Seraphim were wildly devoted to their Father. He couldn’t imagine one doing something to upset their Father so much that he would _suspend_ them.

She took a deep breath and her blush deepened. “Well, yesterday, my sisters and I were worshipping at the Throne, as usual, when I realized that one of the rhythms to the hymns that we were singing was written _really_ off. I first thought that maybe it was our fault and we were singing it wrong, but I checked and it was just written strangely. So, I went to go take the music earlier today to Leviathan—you know, the Angel of Worship.”

Beelzebub could see where this story was going. The Angel of Worship’s antics when it came to critiques of his praise songs were well-known. “And he got angry with your comments, then went directly to Father, made it sound worse than it was, and got you in trouble,” he finished for her. “Leviathan will do anything to make an excuse to go see Father directly.”

“He’s such a kiss-up, sometimes.” Lilith shook her head and pulled out two spiced manna cakes from her orange sash. 

He couldn’t help but watch her unpeel the wrapper from the two cinnamon-and-clove flavored biscuits, his stomach growling loudly. He blushed.

Lilith smiled and reached out her hand, offering him a cake. “Want one?”

Beelzebub grabbed it, smiling and deciding that he _definitely_ liked this angel. The cakes were incredibly dry and were meant to be eaten soaked in milk and honey, but he was so hungry that he couldn’t care less and took a bite of the crumbly biscuit. 

“Sorry,” he apologized, his mouth filled with manna. “I don’t get many chances to eat.”

She put a hand on his shoulder sympathetically. “I heard about your brother—everyone has. I mean, he’s the Angel of the _Sabbath_. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find him soon.”

Beelzebub sighed, suddenly not so hungry, but swallowing the rest of the cake, anyway. “I hope so.”

Lilith noticed the change in his demeanor and poked him in the chest. “You’re Beelzebub, right? You’re supposed to be one of the best guardians ever—teach me your ways!”

A hint of a smile curled on his face. He could see that she was just trying to take his mind off of Belphie. “Being a Guardian of Eden isn’t so hard. Our goal is to keep humans away from the Garden, but even more so, away from the Tree of Life in the middle.” He pointed east from where they were standing, in the direction of the Tree. “The fruit from that Tree has the power to heal any kind of ailment—including the effects of old age.”

“I thought it was supposed to make humans immortal and to heal angels’ diseases.”

“The angel part is true but not the human one—that’s just a rumor we spread to deter them from trying to find it, considering some humans are content and relieved with their mortality. The real power is that every time a human or angel consumes one, it cures them of whatever sickness they’re currently suffering from, even if it’s just the aches and pains that come with being old.”

“I got you. Well, that sounds easy enough, Beel.”

Beelzebub swallowed at the nickname; it was something only Belphie had called him, but he was surprised that it sounded right coming from her lips, too. “It is.”

* * *

They stood side by side, guarding Eden for several hours. It was almost sunset, and Beel wanted to get a head start on searching for Belphie. But, before he could say anything to Lilith, he noticed a figure coming up over the horizon, hunched over and carrying what appeared to be a _person_.

“Who’s that?” Lilith asked.

Beelzebub readjusted his stance and frowned. “An intruder.”

And he was right. Ambling up to them was an emaciated man, his tattered loincloth dirty and covered in what looked like dried bloodstains. In his arms was a young girl, her unwashed hair plaited, looking just as worse for wear as the man carrying her.

“Please,” the man pleaded, walking up to Beel, who looked on ahead of him stoically. “My daughter—she’s very ill.”

A pang of guilt shot through Beel’s heart, but he had seen cases like this all the time. And as usual, he knew he had to turn them away. “I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Oh, my goodness,” Lilith cried, rushing to the man’s side, taking the young girl out of his hands and cradling her herself. Her eyes widened and filled with pity. “What happened?”

“Our camp was raided by another’s several weeks ago, and we have no food. Yesterday, our chief’s wife found some herbs to eat, but when my daughter consumed them, she grew very sick, and she hasn’t woken up since, even though she is still breathing,” the man explained, his eyes filling with tears. “Several moons ago, an angel visited us and told us that my daughter would be the savior of our camp, but if she does not survive, I fear that we will be left defenseless.”

Beel’s heart skipped a beat when the man mentioned another angel. “What did the angel look like? Did he have black and white hair? With eyes like mine? No wings?”

“No, no,” the man said, pausing to analyze Beel’s eyes. “He had tan skin, with white hair and dark blue eyes, tinted with gold. He also _definitely_ had wings.”

Beel could feel his heart drop. He didn’t know who _that_ Messenger Angel was. “Well, either way,” he sighed. “Sir, we can’t help you. You need to leave.”

Lilith glared at him as the man protested, “But sir, we need to get to the Tree of Life. The shaman of our camp has tried everything to heal her, but nothing has worked. We know the fruit from the Tree can heal any kind of sickness.”

Beel didn’t have time to dwell on the fact that the man somehow knew the true nature of the Tree of Life and stamped his foot. “No. No one is allowed in the Garden of Eden.”

“We can make an exception for you, though,” Lilith amended, stepping aside to let the man pass.

This time it was Beel who glared at her. “ _No_ , we can’t. Lilith, that’s what we’re here for: we have to make sure _no_ one can get inside the Garden.”

“Beel! This man is desperate. We can’t let that little girl die—we _can_ ’ _t_! What kind of angels would we be if we did?”

He massaged his forehead. “Lilith, we have our orders. We can’t just go making exceptions for people based on how _desperate_ they are.”

“ _Look_ at her,” Lilith argued, gesturing toward the man’s daughter. “I don’t care what our orders are; we can’t just let this girl die on our watch. I don’t think Father will be angry if what we’re doing saves a life.”

For someone who was supposedly so close to his Father, Lilith didn’t seem to understand that His orders were _absolute_ and that there was _no_ loophole that could be exploited which wouldn’t lead to severe punishment. 

Since Lilith had decided to be so adamant, Beelzebub tried a different tactic. “Lilith, this man was told by one of our Messenger Angels that this girl would save her camp someday. Just trust that God will heal her—you know that He doesn’t lie.”

He thought that that point would get her to calm down, but it was to no avail. “She’s suffering _now_ , Beel. I can’t allow that.” She gestured toward the man and motioned for him to enter the Garden. 

Beel shook his head in frustration. “There’s no point in letting him in, anyway. The Tree of Life is guarded by flaming swords. He can’t get to it.”

The man’s face crumbled, but Lilith was quick to remedy the situation. “I’ll do it. I’ll fly above the swords, and I’ll pick a fruit from the Tree and give it to him.”

Beel blanched. “No. No, you won’t.”

“Yes. I. Will.” And with that, Lilith raced into the Garden of Eden.

* * *

 _Three hours_. 

That’s how long it had taken for all four Guardians of Eden—and one temporary one—to be summoned to his Father’s Throne Room after the young girl had taken a bite from the fruit of the Tree of Life and had been revived. 

In the future, it would take God _another year_ to summon Belphegor for his tribunal, but it had only taken _three_ _hours_ for Him to call Beel for his.

Beelzebub kept his eyes down, not daring to look at his Father’s blinding, lighted presence. He, Adoniel, Chasan, the broken-winged Tabris, and Lilith had just been instructed to rise after falling prostrate before the Throne of God. 

The three angels who had not been involved in the incident gave Beel confused looks, but he couldn’t meet their eyes. He stared at the floor, trying to imagine he was _anywhere_ but here. 

His Father’s Throne Room was a place of judgment, and usually, the verdict was nothing but _guilty_. He tried to take his mind off his probably impending doom—surely his Father would blame him for not stopping Lilith as she flew above the flaming swords guarding the Tree of Life and picking its fruit—by listening to the glorious notes of the piano that Lucifer played from God’s left side.

The Archangel of Music’s eyes were closed, like the world was nothing more than him and his music, as his fingers deliberately played the solemn notes of a melody that he had created. Lucifer never played any song twice, and he used no sheet music. Every song that he performed was an original piece that he made up on the spot, the notes coming so alive in his mind that they leaped out of his fingers into the most rapturous tune. 

“Beelzebub, Tabris, Adoniel, Chasan, Lilith,” boomed the Almighty.

“We are here, Father,” they chorused, bowing their heads.

“It has come to My attention that one of My Guardians has allowed a fruit to be picked from the Tree of Life.” The glow of God’s glory receded and then flared back even brighter, signifying a spike in His anger. “Which one of you is responsible for this?”

Beelzebub knew that of course, his Father already knew who took the fruit; He was merely giving the culprit an opportunity to own up for their crime and apologize—not that it would make their punishment any less severe.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Lilith. The normally upbeat Seraph had her eyes glued to the ground, a terrified look on her face. He frowned in sympathy; facing her Father’s wrath twice in such a short period of time would be a horrifying experience—once was enough for most angels to ensure they never disobeyed again. 

And besides, it wasn’t as if Lilith had—apart from breaking orders—done anything _wrong_. She had _technically_ saved a life, just as she had mentioned before. 

Beel gulped as the silence from the five angels filled the room. It was so suffocating that he didn’t know if Lucifer’s masterful playing was sufficient to overcome it. He stepped forward. “I did it, Father.”

His Father’s furious light subsided in surprise. “You, Beelzebub?”

Of course, God knew that it was _not_ him who took the fruit. But, Beel knew how his Father’s mind worked. If Beel admitted to the crime, his Father _would_ punish him for what he confessed and _also_ punish him for lying, as well. The Almighty still knew that Lilith had committed the crime, but Beel’s sacrifice for her would be enough to sate His anger, and she wouldn’t be punished at all.

His admission elicited shocked gasps from Adoniel, Chasan, and Tabris. Lilith stared at him, her eyebrows downturned in agony. “No—” she began.

Beel interrupted her before she could get very far. “—one expected this of me, right, Lilith? Well, they should have. In fact, Father, I was not only the one who _picked_ the fruit, but I ate it, too.”

“You _ate_ the fruit, Beelzebub?” his Father confirmed, even though He knew otherwise. “You know not even _angels_ are allowed to eat the fruit, as they can suffer ailments that can be healed, as well.”

Beelzebub gulped. “Yes. You know I’ve spent many moons flying around Earth, searching for my twin brother, Belphegor, the Angel of the Sabbath. In doing this, I haven’t gotten much time to eat, so in my desperation, I picked from the Tree and ate.”

“What _gluttony_ you displayed, today, my son! This appetite—so all-consuming that you would desecrate a sacred fruit for the pleasure of excess nourishment—this need for immediate gratification in the form of food, has caused you to disobey My orders and sin.” The Almighty’s anger flared again. “You must be punished.”

“Yes, Father, you should punish me,” Beel replied, wringing the hem of his tunic nervously. _And punish me, and me alone_ , he added silently.

“This is your first offense, my son—I will make your retribution less severe, provided you understand the error of your ways. Answer me, Beelzebub, do you regret what you did?”

Considering he hadn’t even committed any crime, Beel knew he couldn’t answer the question truthfully. He turned his head to look at Lilith, whose eyes were overflowing with grateful tears, her hands over her mouth to drown out her sobs. He knew that he would admit to the offense a hundred times if it meant she didn’t have to suffer for it.

So he answered the question in _that_ context instead.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, don't think I'm hating on Leviathan in this chapter—I love the boy and he has a very specific way for acting the way he does as mentioned in this chapter, especially considering what his Avatar is as a demon. 
> 
> By the way, these chapters aren't written in chronological order; Beel's chapter comes before Belphegor's timeline-wise. I'm just writing them in this order based on their "strengths" depicted in Obey Me!.
> 
> Also, what do you guys think of Lilith in this chapter? I wasn't sure how to write her, as I mentioned in my note in the last chapter, so I hope she turned out okay.
> 
> Also, heehee, don't know if you guys caught this, but *cough* who do you guys think the angel who visited the sick girl's dad's camp is? I think I made it obvious by describing his appearance, but heheh.


	3. Asmodeus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asmodeus falls in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter upsets me because I got the ending I wanted, but the rest of the plot kind of got away from me.

_“The Nephilim were on the earth in those days—and also afterward—when the [angels] went to the daughters of humans and had children by them. They were the heroes of old, men of renown.”_ _— Genesis 6:4_

* * *

If there was one fact that was surer than the truth that the skies would always be blue, that the mountains would never move, that the sun would keep on shining, it was the certainty that Asmodeus would forever adore his job. 

There was nothing about it that he would change, and as far as he was concerned, titular angels, seraphim, cherubim, and archangels, could keep their prestige and fame. They could cherish the fact that there wasn’t an angel that didn’t know their name, and they could revel in the knowledge that the powers they possessed were unlike any other creature before them.

It didn’t matter to him, for he knew, deep in his heart, that there was no career more fulfilling than being a Guardian Angel. 

Living for several hundred years already, Asmodeus had been assigned to guard dozens of humans in his lifetime, keeping them out of harm’s way and ensuring that their safety was prioritized above all else. He was friendly with his charges—as all of his kind were instructed to do—but his gregariousness was merely part of the job; it was his responsibility to protect and become close to his human.

However, this all changed with his current charge. He had been assigned to her when she had turned thirteen. The only daughter in a family of seven sons, her mother and her long-since-deceased grandmother had prayed to God for several months to send her a protector, for she was often alone when her brothers and father went to tend the field. 

Asmodeus didn’t think much of her when he had first made himself known to her, and she wasn’t particularly interested in him, either. Their initial meeting had been on the day her mother had died, and she hadn’t been in the mood to see visitors as she mourned. 

After several weeks, though, the two had slowly become friends. Her mother’s death had left her in charge of the domestic affairs of the household, and she was forced to look after the eight men—nine, including Asmodeus—that shared their cramped tent. 

He helped when he could, for it was obvious to him that she was struggling in the initial months. Her brothers occasionally wondered if she was superhuman, because due to Asmodeus’ aid, she was able to get the job done of two people (no one could see a Guardian Angel save for their charges).

It was from _her_ that he learned to appreciate the orgasmic fragrance of flowers and the importance of maintaining an aesthetic, considering in a tent of mostly unruly boys, she was the one who kept things clean and free from disease.

This was all well and good for the first six years. Unfortunately, when his charge had graced the age of nineteen years and four moons, Asmodeus felt something stirring within him.

It was unusual. He realized it was a different feeling than the elation he felt when he went out into the plains and found a lone lily or the way his heart had filled the one time he realized that pinching his cheeks made them the most becoming shade of red. 

This type of feeling was strange; it was reserved solely for his charge.

The way her smile was just a bit crooked; the brown, unmarred frontier that was her neck; the attentiveness that she showed her brothers after their long days of labor out in the sun; the fact that her plush lips dripped beeswax colored with beetroot; the ardor with which she maintained a sterile tent; the intensity that her full chest heaved with as she hoisted a bucket of water up from the family well to satiate the animals.

There was no part of her that he didn’t envelop in this feeling. 

She was the sun, the moon, the stars. 

He couldn’t place his finger on what to call this emotion—it couldn’t be love, could it? As far as he knew, love for an angel was the love their Father felt toward them, a stern disciplinary affection, while what they reciprocated was an unbroken devotion that was ever so slightly tinged with terror.

Whenever Asmodeus looked at her, he felt his cheeks bloom and heart soar; he came to realize that unlike his other humans, _this_ one was one who he chose to guard not out of obligation, but rather due to his care and concern for her wellbeing. 

Duplicitous men who approached her in the streets would find themselves suddenly covered in animal excrement, flung upon them by some “unseen hand.” Owners of shops in the marketplace who dared attempt to swindle her, “mysteriously” discovered that some of their wares had gone missing. Even her own father, who once reprimanded her for cutting her long, back-length hair up to her shoulders, was not exempt from Asmodeus’ retribution: the man’s painstakingly plowed fields had been ravaged and his crops uprooted by what he assumed to be “evil spirits.”

He was content not to act upon the feeling in regards to the girl herself—and besides, it wasn’t as if action would get him anywhere. Any interaction between a Guardian Angel and their charges that wasn’t strictly platonic was forbidden, and no angel had been brave enough to even _toe_ the line in that realm of disobedience. 

Which made the fact that late one night, Asmodeus found himself completely nude—his sweaty chest heaving from exhaustion and exhilaration—lying on a mat next to his equally drenched and unclothed charge, all the more surprising.

His charge drummed her fingers up and down his arms. “You did so good, Asmo,” she encouraged.

Considering he’d never done _that_ before made the compliment all the more poignant as he turned toward her, propping a hand under his head. “Do you really think so?” He shifted so he wouldn’t be putting all his body weight on his tender wings.

“Yes,” she breathed, sighing happily. She pulled his hand from under his head and nestled it under hers. The woman moved her tapping fingers to his chest, which was lean from doing chores around the tent. “You’re so beautiful.” 

He could feel his face flush. He’d never been called _that_. All his life, he had been conditioned to believe his own appearance wasn’t especially radiant, for he lived in a world where another angel set the standard of beauty. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew Lucifer.”

“Mm,” she mumbled, kissing his face and running her fingertips along the bridge of his nose. “Does Lucifer have as beguiling eyes as you do?”

“I’m not really sure,” Asmodeus admitted. It was rumored that the Archangel of Music had eyes of obsidian, but few had seen him with his eyes opened. Lucifer was an angel that was always engrossed in his music—completely focused on the sound alone—with no need to give heed to what happened around him.

His charge planted a kiss on his cheek, moving her lips down his face until she reached the nape of his neck. “Surely he can’t be as enchanting as you. You, Asmo, are the most beautiful being ever created.”

With every touch, with every word, his blush grew deeper, and he wished that this moment could last forever. 

* * *

“I lay there, wishing that the moment could last forever,” Asmodeus recited. 

It was the next day, and his head hung low to avoid even his peripheral vision from grazing his Father’s glorious light. He found his attention nervously wavering as admired the Calacatta marble flooring of the Throne Room and the soft notes of the flute that Lucifer played from the Almighty’s left side.

His thoughts jumped back to yesterday’s conversation with his charge; he glanced again at the Archangel of Music, trying to catch a glimpse of his eyes, but as usual, they were closed in peaceful concentration as the master flutist opened and closed the keys of his instrument to create the most rapturous tune. 

Lucifer’s confidence in playing the perfect note every time encouraged Asmodeus to stand a little taller. He stared at his fellow angel and tried to compare their appearances, an insidious thought creeping into his head: was he _truly_ more beautiful than _Lucifer_? 

His musings were interrupted by his Father’s voice, which rivaled a volcanic boom in volume. “Asmodeus, Guardian Angel—what have you _done_ , child?”

His Lucifer-like aplomb melted instantly. He knew his Father wouldn’t ask such a question lightly. He had just finished reciting the prior day’s events, after being called into the Celestial Realm to come before the Throne Room of God. Although he _knew_ that the information he relayed would get him in trouble, he hadn’t expected such a livid reaction.

His Father continued, His glory flashing in and out with blinding brightness, “You have broken the cardinal laws of the Guardian Angels with this _lust_ that consumed you yesterday. The very laws that _I_ created—the very same laws that you chose to defy!”

“Father, I defied Your laws, yes,” Asmodeus admitted. He didn’t know if his defense would be seen as insolence, but considering his Father hadn’t reprimanded him yet, he barreled on. “But, believe me, lust is not the true emotion that overcame me that night.”

His Father’s voice was filled with malice as He hissed, “And what, _child_ , feeling do you determine to have filled you as you made love to that woman?”

“You already said it, Father.” He gulped, once again drawing from Lucifer’s serenity to grant him an iota of confidence. “ _Love_ .” If he could get his Father to believe that _lust_ —what He considered to be the most carnal of sins—did not even remotely influence his actions last night, perhaps His anger would be assuaged. 

“ _Love_?” the Almighty thundered. “Child, you cannot love a human. It was _I_ who created them; all their love belongs to Me.”

“It _was_ love, Father,” Asmodeus insisted. He then realized that he wasn’t even lying. The feeling which he possessed for his charge truly _was_ love. 

A record was set in the Celestial Realm that day—a record for how bright and furious the Almighty glowed as his Son said those words.

Lucifer’s music was all Asmodeus was aware of as he crumpled to the floor. His hands covered his eyes in desperation, but it was to no avail; he could already feel them burning from the flashing light that surrounded him. Sparks flew in every direction and he could feel embers of fire lick the tips of his sandals. 

Despite the sudden torridness of the Throne Room, Asmodeus could feel the ice of dread filling his veins. A terrified, frozen paralysis took over his bones.

He had never _seen_ his Father _this_ incensed—in fact, most angels took great care in not even trying to _imagine_ it. 

His Father then spoke, His voice dangerously calm, as if His livid glory wasn’t already in full display. “Look up, foolish child.”

Asmodeus tried to raise his head, but the closer his face inched toward God’s radiance, his shut eyes burned with the blaze of a thousand suns. 

God repeated His command, a ravine of heat threading through His otherwise cool tone, which somehow made it all the more frightening. “ _Look up_ , _foolish child_.”

He again covered his eyes with his hands, and even though it did little to prevent the brightness of His Father’s ire from peeking through, he was able to at least tilt his face toward the direction of the Throne. 

“Remove your hands and open your eyes,” His Father demanded. 

Asmodeus took a deep breath. Was that it? Was his Father going to punish him with blindness for his sin? Because that was what he was sure would happen if he dared take his hands off his eyes. Nevertheless, he did what was asked of him. 

He choked as he opened his eyes and saw that instead of _only_ his Father’s bright form standing before him, there was his charge, as well. “But how?” He reached out his hand, gasping when his fingertips went right through her body without her saying so much as a word.

 _A vision_ , he realized. Normally, visions were dreams filled with premonitions sent by the Almighty. Often they told of future happenings, but there were times when they would show the viewer what was the current status of events if they were not there to witness them themselves. A typical vision was usually rendered in the mind, but here, in the direct presence of his Father, Asmodeus saw the apparition with his very own eyes.

The Almighty pointed the form of His finger toward a spot on the human’s body, right below her stomach. There in her womb rested a glowing yellow orb.

“Your ‘ _love_ ,’” his Father spat, “has brought you the responsibility of a child.”

Asmodeus’ heart stopped. _A child_? His frigid blood thawed, and he couldn’t explain the sudden warm flush that overcame his body. “I’m … going to be a father?”

“Of a child that is half-angel and half-human, yes. I shall call this brand of creature, ' _Nephilim_ ',” his Father glowered. “In any case, _t_ _his cannot stand_.”

The warmth in his body immediately cooled. “Come again, Father?”

“I created _humans_ to populate the Earth. Angels were never part of My plan.” God waved the part of His glory that formed a hand, and the vision of the human turned to ash, which dusted the tile floor. “The child will not survive.”

“No, Father, You can’t—” he began, cringing as he heard the defiance in his voice.

“—Consider it the consequence of your _lust_ , Asmodeus.” His Father’s tone was decided. “I will be merciful—even though you deserve justice, instead—and tomorrow, you will return to your charge. She will know nothing of this incident but be forewarned—if this ever occurs again, there will be no grace. Your erasure from the Celestial Realm will be permanent.” 

Another vision of his charge appeared before Asmodeus. This time, he was standing next to her as her Guardian Angel, as she wove threads of yarn on a loom. The two figures laughed as if all was well. 

Something sunk low in Asmodeus’ stomach. There was nothing more he wanted than to enter in the vision and live his life as it predicted, even if it meant loving the woman from afar.

But his eyes turned glassy as he shook his head. “Father, I beg You. Spare the child.” He breathed deeply, a vow poised on his lips that he, in the next moments, would come to regret. “I’ll do anything. I promise.”

His Father’s glory receded, signaling that the Almighty was on the verge of calming down. “Be careful when you promise ‘ _anything_ ,’ My son.”

“There is no price I won’t pay.”

“Even your life?”

“Even my life.”

“Your immortal life is worth thousands of human lives.”

“Then my sacrifice should be more than enough.”

The Almighty pondered the statement. 

His silence only served to highlight the fact that during this whole encounter, Lucifer had played his flute, not bothering to watch the drama unfold.

Asmodeus had to give the Archangel of Music credit—considering his dedication to his craft, it was no wonder that their Father always yearned to have him by His side. Still, he couldn’t help but find it absurd that Lucifer hadn’t even so much as peeked at the spectacle in the Throne Room; his eyes never opened.

“I will spare your life,” his Father determined. By now, His ire had subsided and it was possible for Asmodeus to face His direction without his eyes watering. “And I will spare your child’s. However, you will never work for your charge, again. You will never see her and she will forget every moment she has spent with you. In her mind, you will never have existed at all.”

Asmodeus gulped and he tasted bile in his mouth. “But what about our child? And the Guardian Angel her mother and grandmother prayed for? Father, You wouldn’t ignore their pleas.”

“No,” his Father boomed. He moved the form of His arm and a third vision materialized. 

This time, Asmodeus saw his charge—former charge?—sitting on a bench, again, working on a loom. The bulge on her abdomen was a clear indicator of her pregnancy. On her left stood a man, rugged and muscular with dark skin; his wings proved that he was an angel—her new _Guardian_ Angel. There was another man on her right, who kissed the woman on the lips and rubbed her swollen stomach.

Asmodeus gagged—bodily _gagged_ —repulsion filling his throat, as he realized what was to occur. “You’re allowing that _human_ man to raise _mine and her_ ’ _s_ child as his own?” He didn’t want to mention the fact that his Father had chosen for her a Guardian Angel that was physically his opposite.

“My son, did you truly believe that you were to raise this child?” the Almighty asked, His voice genuinely puzzled. “You are a _Guardian_ Angel; you live to _guard_ humans that have asked for your protection. You were never created to parent them.”

“How will I ever see my child, then, Father?” While he still couldn’t believe that he had aided in the creation of _life_ , he knew for a fact that he wanted to watch it grow and be there for it.

The Almighty was calm as he said, “You won’t.” Asmodeus felt his heart drop to his feet, as his Father warned, “Remember what I said, My son. Angels were not created to raise humans. If you so much as _think_ of interacting with this child, then I will have no choice but to bind you and slice off your wings. Then you will forever remain in the Celestial Realm, doing the menial jobs of the unspecialized angels.”

Asmodeus felt something inside of him grow cold. Whether he returned to his charge and killed his child or let his child live and lose his charge, he would be giving up his entire world.

“If that’s what I have to do to ensure the child lives, then I’ll take that offer.” There was no emotion in his voice except for pure resignation.

“Excellent.” Suddenly, his Father’s voice became as smooth as honey. Knowing from experience, Asmodeus knew that His next words would be as bitter as gall. And he was right. “Now, My son, we have discussed how we are going to deal with you impregnating a human. It is time for your punishment for your original crime: you slept with your human charge. You say it was love, but I cannot see this purely sexual act as anything other than _lust_. You know the penalty for that has never been implemented, but it is time. However, My son, I will be merciful to you, once again.” Asmodeus simply stared dully as his Father continued, “My son, I will withdraw the original punishment for this crime from you, provided you understand the error of your ways. Answer Me, Asmodeus, do you regret what you did?

It was only then that warmth bloomed inside him once more, the burning embers of his own ire against the Almighty. His Father could call it what He wished, but his passion for his charge _was_ love, no matter how He twisted it. And that _love_ would always remain for that human woman, wherever she was and whomever she reciprocated the love to. 

There was only one word he _could_ answer with.

“No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be Levi, who is frustrating me to no end because I can't think of a good crime for him :(


End file.
